


into this world we're thrown (like a dog without a bone)

by sparkling_cider



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparkling_cider/pseuds/sparkling_cider
Summary: In which Oliver is a hero, Percy's a villain, and there are lots of perfectly reasonable explanations for it all.(Read the author's note.)





	into this world we're thrown (like a dog without a bone)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's the deal. 
> 
> The first chapter of this story is the climax, and also maybe the last chapter to be published ever. I had an idea, but I'm busy and there's no way that I can write the twenty thousand words that this story deserves, right now or ever. This is going to be either just this one ficlet or a collection of quick snapshots from this universe; we'll see.

"This is it," Percy says, shifting the gun around in his grip. "This is the end of the line for you, Stormer. You've put up a good fight, I suppose, but now I'm done with you once and for all." He forces a sneer—it's what's expected. "Any final words?"

The Stormer doesn't try to twist away, which Percy appreciates. For one thing, it's commendable to know when you're beaten; for another, Percy designed the goops to be more than twice as strong as steel, and he would have been vaguely annoyed if the Stormer hadn't properly recognized his craftsmanship.

"I—look," the Stormer says. "You really don't want to kill me."

Percy cocks his head to peer at him: a grown man outfitted in a bright purple costume with a similarly colored mask that obscures his face entirely, attached to the side of a building by several clumps of silverish goops around the size of bowling balls.

He has to tilt his head down to glare at Percy, who's standing firmly on the ground and is planning to remain so, thank you very much. Capes and jet packs and booster shoes are all good and well, but Percy isn't that kind of villain.

"Why would you think that?" Percy asks, because what else is he supposed to say.

"I can't really explain, at least—well, not right now."

The Stormer moves his shoulders in what probably would have been a shrug had his arms not been pinned behind him.

"I don't suppose you could just take my word for it?"

So he's just playing the stalling game, then.

"Chin up," Percy says, and raises his shotgun. He's never killed a person before, at least not directly, and especially not when said person was unarmed, but he's spent years working toward this, and he can't afford to hesitate.

He aims—it'll be a clean death if he can make it one; Percy might be a supervillain, but that doesn't mean that he wants anyone to suffer. His finger is on the trigger. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly—

The Stormer yells, "Percy!"

The bullet hits two feet to the left of his head.

Percy tries not to freak out. How could he have known that? Percy's identity may not be as closely guarded as he'd like, but if even his greatest enemy knows it—but that doesn't make any sense, because if the Stormer has known who Percy is all along, why hasn't he used it, either to get his civilian self arrested, or simply to attack him when he's unprepared?

"How the hell did you know my name," he says, and it comes out too fast, too high.

"Hey," the Stormer says.

"How the hell did you know my name!"

"Look at me. Percy, breathe. You don't—look, we need to talk about a lot of things—I'm really sorry, it's complicated—you don't need a panic attack right now, so look at me, alright?"

Percy stares.

"In, out," the Stormer says. "In, out."

Percy takes a deep breath, then another.

"You got it," the Stormer says. "Just keep doing that."

"What," Percy says.

Because there's only one person who talks to him like that, only one person who knows when he's about to go off and how to calm him down.

Oliver says, "I should probably explain."

"What," Percy says, "the fuck."


End file.
